NICK KISSNER
Wood Lake, Minnesota
About Nick KissnerOne of
Recognized for his poem, Under His Roof
Under His Roof
I ain't no pure nor saintly person,
Ain't been to church, can't remember the day,
Do things different than most, I guess,
Talk to the Lord in my own way.
We visit out ridin' fences,
Baskin' under bright blue sky,
Or while watchin' a mighty thunderstorm,
Waitin' for the trail to dry.
There's lots of fancy churches,
Windows stained and painted white,
But talkin' under His own roof
Just seems to fit me right.
There's lots of time for conversin',
On a long and lonesome ride,
Sometimes feels like he's saddled up,
Ridin' by my side.
I'm just a workin' cowboy,
Known as friend by nary a few,
I'm bettin' that was the plan for me,
Since this ol' world was new.
I hear tell the Good Book says,
"Blessed are the meek"
Suits me fine, 'cause peace inside
Is all this cowboy seeks.© 2002, Nick Kissner
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
We asked Nick how he came to write this poem and he told us: I wrote this poem after a friend of mine, who I ride with, mentioned he hadn't attended church as much as he maybe should. He is a great guy and has strong values which I respect. I told him I thought it was what was in a man's heart that made him Christian and not necessarily his church attendance record.
Remembering a Friend
This morning my heart is heavy,
As I remember my time with you.
The sun doesn't shine as bright this morning,
The sky is a different blue.
For years we journeyed together,
We worked as a team, you and I.
The sun doesn't shine as bright this morning,
Rain clouds fill the sky.
My memories are many that I will carry,
The rest of my earthly days.
The sun doesn't shine as bright this morning,
There's so much I'd like to say.
We struggled through valleys and mountains,
And you let me set the pace.
The sun doesn't shine as bright this morning,
Tears stream down my face.
Old friend, I miss you already,
On you I always depended.
The sun doesn't shine as bright this morning,
But the rain has finally ended.
Suddenly there shines a rainbow,
And hope replaces remorse,
As this cowboy remembers a friend;
His trusted and faithful horse.
© 2002, Nick Kissner
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.Nick told us: This poem came to mind when a friend said he tries to sell his horses before they get too old and he has to deal with their death. I however, thought I owe them an earned retirement at the ranch until they die.
Forever A Cowboy
A century has come and gone,
Since we settled the western plain.
The history we made and the tricks of our trade,
Are left in the few that remain.
Some question the need for the things we do,
And protest the means of our labor.
But there's a reason we stand firmly committed,
To our country and to our neighbor.
You see, a cowboy lives and works each day,
By the values he holds to be true.
He trusts in the Lord, his horse and his friends,
And stands up for the red, white and blue.
He savors big sky and the clouds over head,
The smell of tall grass when it's green.
There's always time for campfire coffee,
The blackest you've ever seen.
He feels unique, even lonely at times,
Seems the world has plum passed him by.
That's the reason he loves it so much,
Maybe now, you understand why.
© 2004, Nick Kissner
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Underneath It All
Some years past, maybe two before last,
I figured somethin' out about me.
For riches, I don't aspire, neither look to retire:
I'm not the man I pretended to be.
I long to be free, live long enough to see
My grandchildren ridin' this range.
Like their mothers before, my daughters, all four,
I don't think that sounds at all strange.
I feel the wind in my face, in this wide-open space,
Where there's ample room to roam.
Away from the cars, out under the stars,
This is the place, I call home.
I gather my rein and ride through the pain,
Under skies, stormy or clear.
I run horses and cattle, avoid the snake's rattle,
And scratch out my livin' out here.
Loyalty runs deep in the friends that I keep,
We share in the cowboy code:
Walk and talk true in the things that you do,
And carry your share of the load.
This world may change, even out on the range,
but the men will remain the same.
You'll never replace them, outlast or disgrace them,
And they're not ashamed of their name...Cowboys.© 2005, Nick Kissner
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Nails
There's a story along every trail we've ridden,
Of sorrow, passion and pride,
Over rivers, canyons and mountains crossed
On life's long and lonesome ride.
And as time goes by, I'm led to wonder,
Who will carry on the tradition,
Will there be anyone left who really cares,
About our way of life or it's future condition?
If the ways and workin's of cowboys die out,
And no one stops to ask why,
There'll be no need to ride on the herd,
No soft, sweet sounds of a cowboy lullaby.
This ranch, I know, will someday be gone,
And few are the pieces that will live and remain,
A post, maybe two, some nails and rusted barbed wire,
And memories of days we prayed for rain.
My friend Gus, has more than a time or two said,
"Ned, when us cowboys grow old, bent and frail,
Will anyone who walks where we have walked,
Even care enough to pick up a nail?
Gus, my hope is that someone will always be here,
To step in our steps along these trails,
And that the Lord sees to it, he's a cowboy like you,
Who'll take time to stop...an pick up the nails.
© 2005, Nick Kissner
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
A Word About Charlie
Today, I walked in sadness, to a spot high atop a hill,
And mornin's light, brought on a numbing, autumn chill.
Some fellow hands, stood gathered with me there,
With collars standing tall, against the crisp, November air.
Matchin' sorrel horses, pulled the funeral cart,
To where the journey ended, just a mile from it's start.
We carried the fallen cowboy, to his final restin' place,
And the feelin' in my heart, was reflected on my face.
The stones stood straight in line, like soldiers in a row,
But told very little about those buried there below.
I believe a man lives on, through others left behind,
And needs no earthly marker, marble or any other kind.
The words I heard spoken, were words I'd heard before,
But I needed folks to know, there was a little somethin' more.
I said, "He never asked a favor, wouldn't back down from a fight,
He'd give the shirt right off his back, and he treated ladies right.
"He loved this way of life, more than life itself,
He put his trust in God, and left his worries on a shelf.
As a cowboy, I know there's been some better,
But he embodied cowboy, each and every letter."
I told them, he was more a man, than any of us all,
Even though his place in hist'ry, may seem mighty small.
I bet ol' Charllie's lookin' down, thinkin' I've lingered long enough,
And I'd better move his cows, 'fore the weather gets too rough.
© 2008, Nick Kissner
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Nick comments, "I used a combination of the character and personalities of a couple older friends, who had recently passed on, as the inspiration for this poem. Their names were Gene and Roy. Seems there was another couple of good ol' boys by that name."
About Nick Kissner:
My wife Char and I have farmed for thirty years but enjoy the ranching end of things the most, running a cow-calf operation of commercial Angus cows. We trail ride and compete at ranch rodeos when time allows. Char is also an RN, so we really value our time together. It was rewarding for both of us to serve as 4H leaders when our daughters were involved in the horse project because we have always liked working with youth and horses.
We asked Nick why he writes Cowboy Poetry and he told us: "A friend of mine got me interested in poetry a few years back. I admired the way he could commit all his thoughts to memory. I can't, so I started writing them down and just kept writing. Cowboy poetry allows me to express the importance of family values, love of country and the little things people nowadays seem to have no time for."You can email Nick Kissner.
What's New | Folks' Poems | Newsletter
Poets retain copyright to their work; obtain a poet's
permission before using a poem in any form.© 2000-2004
Managing editor: M. Metegrano
Graphics: Red Braznell
